www.whyville.net May 18, 2014 Weekly Issue



Kittieme
Veteran Whyville Poet

Arms of a Compass

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FRONT PAGE
CREATIVE WRITING
SCIENCE
HOT TOPICS
POLITICS
HEALTH
PANDEMIC
Like an anxious compass I twist and twitch
Clutching onto false hopes and once - promised memories
With the square - shaped hat cocked slightly on my head
And the blue robe dragging against the damp soil beneath me
The line thins and my former playground buddies become big kids
Graduating from swing sets to book sets
Feelings of accomplishment and relief settle in their stomachs
The arms of the compass search frantically about the cluttered courtyard
Three steps separate me from the stage
As the pit in the bottom of my stomach becomes a canyon
Two steps separate me from the stage
North . . . east . . . north . . . south . . .
Mothers gleam at their children with glistening eyes
Fathers snap endless photographs, capturing the anticipated moment
One step separates me from the stage
I shouldn't have been so naive
Gotten my hopes up for nothing
For no one worth relying on
And no one worthy of my disappointment
My name is called like a fierce command
My trembling legs squirm across the stage
One quick handshake
One forced smile
One chance to hold it up and create the perfect image for my loving family in the crowd
North . . . east . . . north . . . south

 

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